Jazz Age
by megalomaniacal-dream
Summary: An emerald eyed man finds himself wandering around Union Station until he enters a small jazz club and gets lost in the music. One-shot, completely un-edited. USxUK


**Summary: **An emerald eyed man finds himself wandering around Union Station until he enters a small jazz club and gets lost in the music. One-shot, completely un-edited. USxUK

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who favourites and reviews this story.

**Disclaimer: **Axis Powers- Hetalia (c) Hidekazu Himaruya  
>Story (c) megalomaniacal-dream<p>

* * *

><p>Emerald eyes gazed out the window. Before him was the beautiful scenery people boasted of, but he had long since lost interest. It was getting late and he was nearing his fourth hour on the train. He cleared his throat to catch the passing attendant's attention.<p>

"Pardon me," his accent caught her off guard. "when will we be arriving?"

The attendant checked her watch then looked back to the emerald eyed man. "We should be arriving in just under an hour, sir."

He said his thanks before returning his gaze out the window. Thirty minutes passed before he sat straighter in his chair. The scenery had changed. Instead of the never ending fields and mountains ended and the walls of the city began. He hummed in approval before leaning back in his chair and closing his emerald eyes.

:-:

The next time he opened his eyes, the train had stopped at its final destination. He stretched before grabbing his leather duffle bag and following the line of passengers exiting. Annoyed, he walked briskly and didn't stop until he passed the large crowds around the gates and the various shops.

Emerald eyes widened at the openness of the room he now found himself in. Everything was white, from the tiles on the floor to the walls and finally to the domed ceiling. He then found himself drawn to the noble statues arranged around the ceiling. He stood there, awed, until his eyes landed on the large marble and gold clock in the center.

'9:30,' he read to himself. After casting one last glance around the room, he adjusted his duffle bag over his shoulders and stepped out into the crisp night.

Not even ten steps out of the station and he found himself in awe again. Intricate marble columns led up to an arched walkway with large, black hanging lanterns lighting the way. He again noticed more statues standing as guardians above him.

The sharp breeze pulled him out of his reverie. He pulled his charcoal pea coat tighter and popped up the collar to block the wind. He turned and continued down the walkway, the guardians watching over him. He stopped when he caught sight of a mass of people going underground. His emerald eyes then caught the black pole with an "M" sitting over a single red stripe painted over the words, "Union Station," written in white. 'They must be heading for the Tube,' he thought to himself. Another breeze passed, making him shiver. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he turned on his heel and continued down the street.

:-:

'Why didn't I just go underground with those sods?' the man chastised himself. Instead he had wandered through the streets, looking for any place to get something to eat. He had crossed many streets, passed closed shops, and walked over a bridge where he caught sight of a train leaving the station. He could have asked one of the many groups of people he passed on the street, not all of them inviting, for directions but his pride kept him from stopping. He continued walking straight down the street, pausing briefly only when he heard music. Turning, he caught sight of a small club and seeing no other options he walked in.

It was a rather small club, the man had to admit. Immediately after the door was a small bar. The man behind the bar nodded to him before returning to the others sitting ordering drinks. Small square tables, each with a small candle to light it, lined the way into the club as it got progressively darker. All the way in the back was a stage with four men playing. Three sat in a semi-circle, from left to right, one on the piano, the next on the drums, and the last cradling his upright bass. The fourth player had his back to the crowd, waiting for the smooth bass solo to end.

The emerald eyed man found a free table in the middle of the floor. Sitting down, he glanced at the other patrons there. Lonely couples as well as young couples in love. He ordered a cup of tea as well as a sandwich. His attention went back to the stage hearing the drums reenter the sound, catching the fourth player as he turned back to the crowd.

He couldn't help but gawk at the man. There he stood, center stage, with light all around him. His trumpet shined in the light, much like his honey wheat hair. He wore slightly fitted acid wash black jeans and a tan thermal long sleeve shirt. He was tall, and well-built with broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and a pair of rectangular glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. The emerald eyed man continued staring, so captivated by the trumpeter he barely noticed the bartender bringing him his order as he watched the other man bring his horn up to his thin lips.

Smooth notes lulled the crowd into a calmed state blending, while still carrying over, the rhythm section behind him. Emerald eyes glazed over as the sound reached him. He could no longer see the other players or the couples sitting around him, nothing except the captivating man on the stage.

The tempo picked up again as those sultry notes turned into a staccato frenzy. Long fingers danced on the valves as he reached impossible heights on his horn. The crowd went wild with applause, spurring him on more. He flew up and down the scale, the rhythm section filling in with their improvisations.

Gradually, he slowed, and with one final minor note, oceanic eyes calmly opened and landed on dazed emeralds. With a warm smile, the trumpeter brought his hand to his chest and with a slight bow gave his silent thanks before exiting the stage.

The crowd began to chatter, bringing the man out of his daze. He snapped to attention searching the small club for the trumpeter, but he was nowhere to be found. It was as if the man had never existed- a figment of his imagination, luring him in just to vanish right as he was about to reach out to him.

The emerald eyed man resigned himself to his fate of never finding the captivating trumpeter, until he caught a flash of honey wheat hair near the exit. There he was, almost within reach! Forgetting his cold tea and sandwich, he threw his leather duffle bag over his shoulder- just as the trumpeter threw his leather bomber jacket over his broad shoulders- and chased after him.


End file.
